


Are you going to say "Ineffable"?

by AbsoluteGodsend



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: M/M, Other, aziraphale - Freeform, crowley - Freeform, slowburn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-23 16:30:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19705153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbsoluteGodsend/pseuds/AbsoluteGodsend
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale have been friends for thousands of years. The slow burn of something unsaid is eating at Crowley, but for once, it's Aziraphale who closes the gap.





	1. The Word Nice is not a Nice Word

Aziraphale couldn't help but think of one word after Crowley miracled the blue paint off of his coat. "Nice". He'll never admit to it, but in reality, the angel wanted to see what Crowley did. Was he nice enough to do something like that for him? Aziraphale couldn't help running through all the other outcomes. Crowley could have easily sauntered off, embracing his demonic ways (and that walk, dear Lord), and leaving the angel to handle it. He didn't, and that put a warm feeling in the angel's chest, and a smile on his face.

The only thing Crowley was thinking of was the angel's smile, and the side glance he gave him as he walked off. "Nice" wasn't anywhere on his mind. Crowley would rather discorporate than say he's nice. He wasn't sure what the angel was really playing at when he put on this pouting face and proceeded to complain about the paint, but Crowley didn't care. He wanted to satisfy Aziraphale, being best friends and all.

Now, these thoughts that had been flying through Aziraphale's head were (almost instantly) squashed when he heard gunfire come from the courtyard after a wave of Crowley's hand. A look of horror crosses the Angel's face.

"What the Hell did you just do?"

Crowley slaps on a cocky grin, some might even call it a sneer.

"Well angel, they wanted real guns, so I gave them what they wanted." The demon's grin grows as he continues to walk. He needed to balance out the act of getting rid of the paint on Aziraphale's coat. It left a bad taste in his mouth.

The angel stops briefly. "Are they really murdering each other?"

The sadness (disappointment?) in Aziraphale's voice makes Crowley's smile drop. Followed by an internal, "Fuck." He turns to face the angel.

"No, angel. No one is actually dying. They're all making miraculous escapes. Wouldn't be much fun otherwise." Crowley does a bit of his own pouting.

The angel beams. "Oh, Crowley." He pauses. "You know, I've always thought that, deep down, you really are a nic-"

A hellish fire flares up in Crowley. Fiery anger forces him to grab Aziraphale by the collar of his (pristine) coat and shove him against the wall. He gets, quite literally, in the Angel's face. As a demon, nice is a word that burns the fibers of his being.

"Shut it! I'm not nice. I'm a demon, I'm ne-"

Suddenly, before he could continue his raging rant, a soft, burning sensation is placed on his lips. Crowley's fire is put out just as quickly as it started. For a being who doesn't necessarily need to breath, Crowley has just lost his breath.

Aziraphale has closed that non-existent (slow burning) gap between them. He didn't think too much about it. In fact, he was intimidated by those dark sunglasses and the snake eyes behind them. Aziraphale just leaned in. It's what the humans do, right? Lean into that temptation of someone (Crowley) being so utterly close. He will later claim that it was not his own doing. He notes that Crowley tastes somewhat like smoke with hints of cinnamon. He has also just decided that this is something that he quite likes the taste of.  
Crowley thinks he's beginning to melt. His grip on the angel's collar softens, and Crowley finally begins to register what's happening. Soft lips are on his. They taste vaguely of fancy wine (A Pinot Noir, of course. Aziraphale likes wine that pairs with his food). It's the physical feeling that grabs Crowley's attention. At first, it was like a hot bolt of lightning shot through his face and down his body. A reaction to the Holy touching the Fallen. It's now subsiding to a lingering (and glorious) tingling sensation. Crowley leans into Aziraphale, pushing into his chest. The demon tilts his head slightly to the left and shuts his eyes. He takes note that the glasses certainly do get in the way, as they are now being pushed up awkwardly on his face. Crowley refuses to think anymore, until he feels two soft, gentle hands put pressure on his shoulders, pushing him back.

He doesn't want it like you do.

A sudden realization hits the demon. He drops his hands back to his sides, and steps back, breaking the intimate action. Crowley opens his eyes to find a blushing angel in front of him, straightening out his coat and collar.

"I'm sorry, dear. Caught in the moment, as they say." Aziraphale's voice doesn't waver, and his color returns to normal. He actually chuckles. It was like it never happened.

Crowley, however, is quite literally a hot mess. Red face, weak knees, heavy breathing. The mighty Fallen Angel is now reduced to a teenage girl on prom night.

Crowley suddenly feels very, very stupid. The thing is, Crowley knows Aziraphale. He's been around the angel for 6000 years. He knows that Aziraphale, whether he meant the kiss or not, will never mention it again, nor will he act like it happened. Crowley is now feeling determined, mixed with a dash of disappointment and remorse. Before Crowley gets the chance to break down, heels can be heard on the tile floor.

"Hope I'm not breaking up an intimate moment. Can I help you?"

=========

Crowley has never had a worse lunch date with Aziraphale until that night. He's always considered them lunch dates . Well, ever since Rome, 41 AD (that happened to be their first one). This one, the night of "The Kiss" (Crowley has given it a proper title) and the night Crowley hit a woman with his car (how dare she) was different. Crowley sits across from the angel, having begrudgingly agreed to stop and get something to eat. Aziraphale had used that same puppy dog look from earlier. Usually, Crowley rather enjoyed watching Aziraphale cherish the luxuries of food. He would stare at the angel's every expression, watching how he savored every bite, eyes closed and looking content. Crowley was convinced that Aziraphale indulged food similar to how Crowley indulges sleeping. Tonight, however, Crowley stared at the table they shared, mindlessly swirling a finger around the rim of his coffee cup. He neglected to notice that the coffee was boiling.

"Crowley?"

The demon takes a breath in.

"Yes, Angel?" Crowley sounds defeated, unenergetic.

"Were you listening to my plan?"

Crowley looks up, and notices that Aziraphale has finished his food (Crowley can't bother to remember what it was). Aziraphale looks at the demon with a worrying look, eyebrows knitted together and eyes soft.

Who looks at a demon like that?

Crowley quickly puts on his usual, casual demeanor, leaning back in his chair with a slight grin.

"Do you want the honest answer? Or the answer you want to hear?"

Aziraphale sighs, shaking his head. "Those are basically the same thing to me, you old snake. Of course I want to hear the honest answer."

"Well, against my demonic being, I'll be honest." Crowley does an over-dramatic eye-role, earning him a smile from the Angel. "I didn't hear a single thing that you said."

Aziraphale chuckles, his face scrunching up with a cheeky grin.

"I wouldn't have expected other wise, dear friend."

Crowley smiles. A genuine smile, one that reaches his eyes. Maybe getting the Angel to open up about that blessed kiss isn't going to be that hard.

"Right then, Angel. Off to the bookshop? I'm dying for some wine."


	2. Isn't Mozart one of Ours?

It had just struck 12 a.m. when the two arrived at Aziraphale's bookshop. Crowley steps out of the car, and the Bentley quiets down. Aziraphale, however, looks decidedly terrified as he grips the door and stands.

"I don't think I'll ever get used to the wretched way you drive." 

"Oh shut up. You like it. A bit of adrenaline in your system." Crowley walks around the car, dragging a hand along the grey body. "Come on, angel. We have some drinking to do." 

The demon beckons the angel with his hands has he speaks. Aziraphale sighs, and closes the Bentley door. He places a hand lightly on the hood of car, just about where Crowley had touched. Aziraphale smiles. The Bentley is Crowley's prized possession, anyone can tell that (if they're not being nearly run over by the beast), and Aziraphale would hate to see anything happen to it. He walks to the entrance of the bookshop, where Crowley has been leaning against the door, arms crossed. He had watched Aziraphale, and he feels pride swell in his chest. 

Crowley and Aziraphale are promptly drunk by the time the clock strikes 2. They've been going on about Armageddon, which includes Crowley mentioning something about gorillas and bad movies. Including, The Sound of Music.

"You could literally, climb every mountain, over and over and over and over," he stumbles into a pole. "and over and over."

"I-I don't like it anymore than you do, but I told you. I can't diso-" The Angel shakes his head at the word, like it pains him. "-not do what I'm told. I'm an angel! I... oh God." Aziraphale wipes a hand over his face. "I can't cope with this while drunk."

Crowley stumbles to the couch across Aziraphale, throwing himself onto it. He pushes his glasses up with the back of his hand. 

"The night is still young! Let's stop talking about it." Crowley's words are slurred, and he has now begun to drag the "s" out. Old snake habits. 

Aziraphale doesn't respond. Instead, he sinks into his chair. The angel suddenly looks very deep in thought.

"Crowley, you know how some humans have taken to believing in a Purgatory?" 

"Well, yea. You know, it's not a bad idea. A place for the "in between". A place for things like us, eh?" Crowley raises his glass. 

Aziraphale waves his hand dismissively. "Let me finish. They've also created sayings, like "Heaven's no" and "Hell yes"."

Crowley is utterly confused.

"So why isn't there a "Purgatory maybe?"" He looks to Crowley. The demon sits up on the couch, the suggestion peaking his interest.

"Hm." His eyebrows knit together, and he swirls his wine glass. After a bit of intense thinking from the two, the demon places his wine on the table, and slams his other fist into the wood, nearly making the wine spill. 

"Purghaps." Crowley declares. He stares at the Angel, who is sitting wide-eyed, surprised. A flash of worry crosses his mind, thinking that Crowley might've damaged the table. The thoughts are quickly diminished. 

"Brilliant." Aziraphale looks at Crowley with a crooked smile and red cheeks, stifling a laugh. It's contagious. Soon, Crowley and Aziraphale are wiping tears from their eyes as they laugh at the sheer absurdity of Crowley's new word. The laughter dies down after a bit, and Crowley opens his eyes to see Aziraphale absolutely glowing with alcohol-induced giddiness. 

I've waited 6000 years for him. I can wait a bit longer. 

Of all people, the Principality Aziraphale beams (Crowley is tempted to put a picture of Aziraphale next to the word beam in the dictionary) at the old fallen angel. Crowley picks up his wine glass and settles back into the couch, arm draped lazily over the side. He goes back to swirling the wine, eyes still on Aziraphale. The angel studies Crowley's face, and the Demon is hyper aware of it. He can feel a blush creeping up cheeks. A frown appears on Aziraphale's face, after seeing that Crowley has yet to take off his glasses. 

"Come here, dear." Aziraphale leans forward, reaching his (perfectly manicured) hands out towards Crowley. Crowley does as he says, putting his elbows on his knees, wine hanging lazily from his hand. Aziraphale reaches up with both hands, his fingers sliding against Crowley's cheekbones, and grabs the sides of the sunglasses. He carefully pulls them off of Crowley's face. 

"There. That's better. You shouldn't have to hide those beautiful eyes of yours. Well, not around me, at least." 

Crowley scoffs.

Aziraphale looks slightly offended. "Would I lie to you?"

Crowley shakes his head. "I suppose not, angel. You know, I started to hate my eyes after being in this form for so long. They're so... different."

"Do you still feel that way?" 

Crowley shrugs. "Eh. There's no point, really. Not something I can change. Besides. I get to look mysterious all the time with the sunglasses. Be careful with those, by the way."

Aziraphale, now starting to sober up, begins to clean the lenses with a cloth. "Of course I'll be careful, dear. But I've seen the compartment of spares you keep in your car. You've got plenty." He teases.

"Oi!"

Aziraphale chuckles, placing the folded glasses carefully on the desk. A silence stretches over them as the alcohol in their system begins to subside. Crowley takes this time to look around at the bookshop, uninhibited by the dark tint of the glasses. He looks to the back, in the shadows. He see's a candle illuminating the body of a white grand piano. It's new, Crowley is sure of it. He's explored every inch of this place before, and has been in it many times.

"Angel, when did you get a grand piano?" 

"Oh. It's new. Picked it up a couple of days ago." Aziraphale cranes his neck to look, a forlorn expression etched on his face. "With the world ending, I wanted to play. Experience music again. It's been ages."

Crowley stands. "When did you learn? I feel like it's something you would have mentioned."

"Well, it was during the time where you ran off to sleep for a century or two. I needed to keep myself... preoccupied." 

Crowley moves towards the back. Aziraphale eventually follows, turning on the lights. It's white, sleek. Brand new. The soft yellow light blanketing it resembles a vintage photo.  
"Who taught you?" 

"Funny thing, actually. Mozart did."

Crowley whips around to look at Aziraphale. "No way. Isn't Mozart one of ours?"

"Well, yes. He is. But he is by far a very famous composer. How could I resist?"

Crowley turns his attention back to the piano. "Well go on then, angel."

Aziraphale becomes flustered. "I- well, oh, I've been out of practice for ages, I don't think I'm any...good anymore." He looks down at his clasped hands.

Crowley rolls his eyes. He unfurls Aziraphale's left hand and leads him, placing his hand on the keys, and covers it with his own. 

"Sit."

Aziraphale lowers himself onto the bench. He puts both hands onto the piano, waiting. The demon snakes an arm around Aziraphale (deliberately tracing the Angel's shoulder), placing his hands on the angel's. Aziraphale can feel Crowley's chest pressed against his back, relishing the radiating heat. He takes in a breath when Crowley whispers into his ear. 

"Follow me."

Crowley aligns his fingers over the black and white keys near the middle of the piano, guiding Aziraphale. Slowly, Crowley presses his index and ring finger down of his left hand, pressing Aziraphale's onto the keys. A chord rings out, it's tone washing over the two and filling the room. Crowley works his right hand, pressing the same fingers onto different keys. The chords that ensue are unmistakable, as Clair de Lune speaks it's sweeping chords into the soul of Aziraphale. It's one of the angel's favorite pieces. The demon and angel play together, Aziraphale's fingers tingling every time the demon presses a new chord. When the song begins to pick up in pace and intensity, Crowley slides his hands away, tracing them up Aziraphale's arms, and rests them on his shoulders. 

"Do keep playing, angel."

Aziraphale gets goosebumps at the feeling of the Demon's breath on his neck as he whispers the command. But he keeps playing. Aziraphale knows the song well.  
Crowley steps away from the angel as the playing continues. He walks to a wall, and leans his back onto it, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. Crowley won't admit it openly, but he thoroughly enjoys classical music, and has taken to learn the piano himself. He does enjoy playing, of course, but listening is an entirely new experience. And listening the angel play, is, well, pure Heaven. Aziraphale phrases and bends the music, making it his own. Perfectly placed crescendos and decrescendos give the piece life, and it seems to breath. It takes all the air from the shop, and sings out the chords and notes at the hand of Aziraphale. 

Crowley wanted to talk to the Angel about what they are and what had happened with "The Kiss". It's been eating at Crowley, like an itch that you can't quite satisfy. He wanted the influenced angel to open up, but for some reason, it felt wrong to Crowley. Like he would've betrayed Aziraphale. He finds this feeling awfully bothersome. In the end, Crowley determines, he's glad that it wasn't brought up tonight. 

You'll open up eventually, darling. I will be there for it. You'll pour your heart out, and I'll be there to catch it. 

As the song begins to come to an end, Crowley looks at Aziraphale. His eyes are closed, face scrunched up in concentration. Breathing with the music. Content.  
The piece breaths it's last chord as Aziraphale looks at Crowley, a goofy grin on his face and eyes glistening. 

Crowley has always been a romantic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy.  
> This whole chapter ended up being more emotional than I had originally intended, but who's complaining.  
> I linked a YouTube video for an extended version of Clair de Lune, and I highly recommend listening to at least the beginning to set the tone. It's a powerful piece, and it means a lot to me.  
> Couple things, I won't be announcing an update schedule, nor will I have one. This is because if I pressure myself into a deadline I end up shutting down creatively lol. It'll be no more than a week between chapters, though.  
> Thank you all for giving this a shot! (Also, hi to the Instagram people, ily)


End file.
